Tom looked in the direction indicated, and among the men standing at the bar saw Hankinshaw. The mottled face was even redder than usual.
“Can’t seem to avoid that fellow,” remarked Tom disgustedly. “He’s a regular jinx.”
Either Hankinshaw had not seen them or he had not recognized them in their aviators’ suits, for he paid no attention to them. He took one drink more and then lurched unsteadily out of the place.
Tom and Ned finished their meal and went to the shack that served as post-office and telegraph station. Tom sent off messages to his father and Mary, announcing their safe arrival, and then made some inquiries of the telegraph operator, a bright young college boy who was “fingering the key” to earn some extra money during his vacation.
“Is the town of Goby near here?” asked Tom.
“No town of that name in this section,” was the answer. “But there’s a Goby farm owned by a man of that name about four miles from here.”
“I guess that’s the place I have in mind,” said Tom, “though from what a friend of mine told me I thought it was the name of a town. Is the owner of it a blind man?”
“Yes,” was the answer. “A nice old fellow he is, too, and he has a daughter that’s a perfect peach.”
“Tell me about him, will you?”
“I understand that he’s a Northerner who came down to this part of the country to regain his health. Since he came here he’s gone blind. I imagine he’s had rather hard sledding to get along on his half section of land. That is, before the oil craze began. As far as I can learn, his property is right in the midst of the oil region, and he’ll probably be able to sell it at a good price. That is, if he doesn’t get cheated out of it. Some of these oil prospectors are a pretty slick lot. They’d steal the penny off a dead man’s eyes, and they’d rob a blind man as quickly as they’d take a drink.”